


after the rain

by cluusheen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Foster Care, Gen, Harley Keener & Peter Parker Friendship, Harley Keener & Peter Parker are Siblings, Harley Keener is a Good Bro, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Harley Keener, Protective Tony Stark, Skip Westcott Being a Jerk, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, and therapy, skip is adrian toomes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 14:46:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30107583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cluusheen/pseuds/cluusheen
Summary: Peter thought the past didn’t matter. He and his brother Harley were out and braving the world together, and he had some cool new powers. Nothing could touch him, not ever again.But then Tony Stark - the Tony Stark - enters his little world, and suddenly there’s more to life than just the neighborhood.And there’s more to Peter than his present.As hard as he tries to patch the leaks in his mind, the past continues to pour down on him. But maybe, just maybe, with Harley and Tony by his side, things could get better.Because after the rain comes the sun.Or in which Peter and Harley met in foster care, quickly became brothers, ran away, and were finally getting used to life when in walks Tony Stark.*story/chapter titles from After the Rain by Nick Wilson*
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker, Harley Keener & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30





	after the rain

The clouds were sad that day. Peter wanted to reach up and wrap each puff in a warm hug; he tried to tell them it was okay to cry. Maybe crying would make it better. 

He knew it was almost entirely for selfish reasons. If the clouds cried, he’d have an excuse to go home. But until the heavens opened, his feet were planted outside the old, dusty purple house.

Peter thought it was cruel that his feet betrayed him, leading him to this place. This old, worn-down building. Why was he here? His feet must have betrayed him because, well, his mind had no answers. He had no reason to go back there. 

He had no reason to go anywhere.

Harley was getting ready for work; he’d be gone by the time Peter got home on a regular day. Maybe if Peter ran now, he’d make it home in time to see his brother.

Or, more likely, he’d just run closer to the house. He hesitantly stepped to the foot of the porch, and his eyes studied the wooden steps that were cracked and overrun with rot and weeds.

The house can’t hurt him. Peter’s brain knew that; his brain preached it. But his heart, his lungs, his body screamed in protest.

His feet listened to the brain. He walked further.

He winced as the steps creaked under him, but the door- the _screech_ of the door rubbing against the rotting wood floor- the _screech._

_He’s in his room upstairs. He’s safe from the monster under the bed, under the floorboards. Because the monster stays downstairs, doesn’t even look up most days. He keeps to himself._

_He’s safe._

_But Harley isn’t._

_Harley’s in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner._

_The screech of the front door lets him know_ he’s _home._

_The monster has returned. And even though he’s never gotten close enough, not yet, Peter’s shaking under his covers._

_He’s safe._

_He’s safe, he’s safe, he’s safe._

_But Harley-_

_“Those dishes better be clean, boy.”_

_It’s gruff. It’s_ mad _. It’s drunk. Again. Peter’s a leaf in the wind. These nights, he wishes he was one of the other boys. The other boys learned to tune it out. Peter learned to keep listening._

_“Almost,” comes the hesitant, tired reply. Harley’s been doing this too long. Peter can’t stand it anymore._

_“Why aren’t they done yet?”_

Please don’t push, _Peter prays. He isn’t reasonable when he’s been drinking. He isn’t reasonable-_

_“Why weren’t you here?”_

_Silence._

_Oh, the silence pains him. He can’t listen to nothing. At least when they’re yelling, he knows. When they fight, Peter can assess the damage before Harley storms upstairs._

_But the silence- Skip could be fuming. Or maybe, just maybe, The monster realizes the error of his ways-_

_Stay realistic._

_You won’t survive on optimism._

_“Excuse me?”_

_You won’t survive._

_“It’s not my job to take care of them-”_

_“It’s_ your _job to do what_ I _tell you to do.”_

 _Silence. Maybe that’s it. Maybe Harley will finish the dishes and come upstairs, and maybe tonight won’t be_ bad.

_You won’t survive._

_Harley mutters something, muffled by the floorboards. Peter can’t make out what he says. But Skip can._

_Skip does because there’s a_ bash _and a_ grunt, _and Peter knows by now._

 _He pushed Harley. He_ pushed-

The door open, and he crept inside, wishing he were anywhere else, wondering why he wasn’t.

He had band practice- no… No, band practice was canceled. Right. Because the sky was going to cry and yell and scream. Because the sky wasn’t okay and everyone else went home. But Peter couldn’t leave the sky alone. So his feet took him to the only place he knew.

If only that place were home.

If only he knew what home was.

No one had ever cared about that house. Not even the social workers who never stayed long, on account of Skip’s “charming” personality and shining record. 

They trusted him. They trusted him enough to walk out the creaky door, not even an hour after they walked in. They trusted him enough to let him watch five little boys at a time. And they trusted him enough to accept his lies that Harley’s black eyes and cuts were from fights at school. After all, none of the other boys had a scratch on them.

Peter, like the social workers, wouldn’t stay long. Not as an orphan under Steven Westcott’s care and not as a mutant teen who should have been on his way home already.

But he let himself linger for just a moment longer, let himself gaze at the empty living room, covered in a foot of dust. His eyes caught an old, dried-up stain of deep, unforgiving red, and his arms unconsciously wrapped around his middle. 

They trusted him. The signs were all _right_ _there_ , and they still trusted him.

And now the house stood abandoned just as uncared for as it was when Peter lived there.

Peter’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Some weak, scared corner of his mind told him to ignore it. He was safer if he just stood still and didn’t breathe; if he didn’t make it obvious he existed.

 _You won’t survive_.

He reached behind his back to grab the old flip phone anyway.

 **_Harley:_ ** _Where are you???_

 **_Peter:_ ** _on my way_

 **_Peter:_ ** _sorry i got lost_

 **_Harley:_ ** _lost?_

Peter ignored Harley’s last message and turned on his heel, practically flying out of the house. 

The sky crackled above him. The dam was about to break. If Peter could only reach up and hold on, maybe the clouds would part, and the sky would smile again, and maybe the world would get brighter.

Maybe Peter wouldn’t feel an ache in his chest where the sun used to be.

* * *

Peter sulked into the apartment complex just as the rain began to pick up. Alt-J’s Left Hand Free was buzzing in his ears. Slinking through the narrow hallways and run-down elevator, he made it to their apartment in no time.

This door creaked when it opened; Harley always said he’d fix the hinges one day, but that day never came. At least it didn’t scrape against the floor.

“Hey, Harley!” Peter called with forced enthusiasm. He didn’t have to worry about his brother noticing; faking it was Peter’s speciality. 

He strode past the living room and into the kitchen, his head downcast and focused on putting away his keys and kicking off his sneakers. 

“Hey,” Harley replied from the couch. “How was school today?”

His voice was light and relaxed, as always, easing the anxiety that bubbled in Peter’s stomach from his prior excursion.

“Okay,” Peter shrugged, moving toward the living room. “There’s this crazy car parked out…”

There was no way.

No way in hell.

Peter’s eyes shifted between the two figures on the couch. On his left, his best friend and big brother Harley. On his right…

 _The_ Tony Stark?

Iron man. The guy who fought his way out of a cave in Afghanistan. Who flew a nuke into space and saved all of New York. 

The guy who landed behind him at the Stark Expo… however long ago that was and blasted a drone to kingdom come before it could shoot Peter.

No way was Tony Stark sitting on _his_ couch.

As if too distracted to have noticed Peter’s arrival, Tony turned him saying, “Oh, Mr. Parker!”

“Um…” Peter pulled his earbuds out. He looked at Harley, who was somehow confused, excited, and tense at the same time. 

Tony couldn’t _know,_ could he? And if he did, did he already tell Harley?

“What- What are you doing… Hey, um, I-I’m-I’m Peter-” Suddenly, his smile wasn't so forced. 

“Tony,” the man smiled back.

Peter crossed his arms over his chest, “What are you- What are you- W-What are you doing here?”

Harley’s eyes might as well have been hockey pucks shooting back and forth between the two. His smile, though small and unsure, seemed genuine.

“Well, it’s about time we met!” Tony exclaimed as though it were obvious. While Harley mouthed a quick ‘what the fuck’ to his brother, Tony winked. “You’ve been getting my emails, right?”

“Uh… yea! Yea, regarding the…”

“You didn’t even tell me about the grant!” Harley cut in. If there was a hint of betrayal in his otherwise amazed voice, Peter didn’t notice.

“The grant-”

“The September foundation,” Tony filled in.

“Right.”

“Remember when you applied?”

“Yea?”

“I approved! So, now, we’re in business.” Tony took a long sip of his coffee while Harley looked bewildered.

“You didn’t tell me anything, man; what’s up with that? You keepin’ secrets from me now?”

Damn. If there was one thing Peter and Harley never did, it was keep secrets from each other. Not after… 

“Well, no, it’s just… you’ve been so busy! And I know how much you love surprises, so, y’know, I just… um, anyway, what did I apply for?”

Mr. Stark snapped his fingers, “That’s what I’m here to hash out.”

“Okay. Hash-hash out okay… uh, does this grant have, like… any money involved? Or whatever? No?”

“Yea, it’s pretty well funded. Look who you’re talking to!”

Peter blushed at that; for a minute, Tony had been just another guy.

Tony looked at Harley for the first time since Peter walked in, “Can I borrow him for a minute?”

“Sure,” Harley nodded. “I’m about to head out to work, Pete; I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

Peter nodded and led Mr. Stark to his room.

Once inside, Tony shut and locked the door, making the hairs on Peter’s neck stand.

 _It’s okay,_ he told himself. _Mr. Stark isn’t gonna do anything… right?_

“Ah, what do we have here,” the billionaire wonder, walking towards Peter’s computer. “Retro tech, huh? Thrift store? Salvation army?”

“Uh… the, uh, garbage, actually.”

“You’re a dumpster diver.” 

“Yea, I was- an-anyway… Look, um, I definitely did not apply for your grant-”

“-Ah! Me first,” Tony cut him off, reaching into his pocket. “Quick question of the rhetorical variety.” The man’s phone projected a hologram, lighting up the tiny room. There was a video, one showing off Queens’ very own little web-slinger. “That’s you, right?”

Peter’s face paled, his heart sinking to his stomach, “Um, no, what do you-”

“Yea? Look at you go,” he watched the video, somehow more focused than Peter. “Wow, nice catch! Three-thousand pounds, 40 miles an hour… that’s not easy. You got mad skills.”

Tony walked closer, but Peter just pushed past the man, arguing, “That’s all on YouTube, though, right? I mean, that’s what you found there? ‘Cause you know that’s all fake- like it’s all done on the computer?”

Tony stopped listening to the boy’s rambled defense; something in the room’s single light caught his attention.

“Yea, you mean like those UFOs over Phoenix?” He mused, grabbing a stick and pushing up the light.

“Exactly!” Peter exclaimed… just as his SpiderSuit fell from the ceiling and his defense crumbled before him.

He launched himself away from the wall, catching the suit and shoving it into his closet. He hoped- he _prayed_ \- Mr. Stark hadn’t noticed, but he knew there was no chance.

“Uh, that’s uh…” he fumbled, turning to face the man. He sighed. There was no getting off this.

“So…” Tony began, walking toward the boy. “You’re the Spider-ling. Crime Fighting Spider? You’re Spider-Boy?”

 _Nice,_ Peter thought.

“Sp-Spider-Man,” he muttered.

Tony scoffed, “Not in that onesie you’re not.”

“It’s not a onesie!”

Peter pushed off the wall, once again moving away from Mr. Stark, while the man pulled Peter’s suit from the closet. “Who else knows? Anybody?”

Peter shook his head, “Nobody…”

“Not even your brother?” Tony asked, inspecting the suit.

“No- _no_ . No, no. If Harley knew he would _freak_ out, Mr. Stark, and… when he freaks out, I freak out and after everything, I just- I _can’t_ …”

“You know what I think is really cool? This webbing,” Tony threw the small contraption to the boy who caught it without even looking. “Tensile strength is off the charts. Who manufactured that?”

“I did,” Peter responded, throwing the web fluid into his closet.  
“Climbing walls, how are you doing that? Adhesive gloves?”

“It’s a, uh, long story.”

God, this could _not_ be happening. No way was Tony Stark sitting in _his_ room asking about the ridiculous powers he’d barely come to understand himself.

“Lordy!” Tony admonished, holding up Peter’s goggles. “Can you even see in these?!”

“Yes! Yes, I can!” Peter snapped, ripping the suit from Tony’s grasp. He threw it back in the closet and stared at the man with wide, terrified doe eyes. “I- I _can_ see in those, okay? It’s just that… when whatever happened _happened_ , it’s like my senses have been dialed to 11… there’s- there’s way too much input so they- they just kinda help me focus.”

Tony nodded, “You’re in dire need of an upgrade. Systemic, top to bottom. Hundred-point restoration, that’s why I’m here.”

Peter collapsed on his bed, the weight of the past few minutes suddenly too much for him to carry.

“Why are you doing this?” Tony asked. There was a beat of silence between them as Peter pondered the question. “I gotta know, what’s your MO? What gets you outta that twin bed in the morning?”

Peter’s leg bounced, and suddenly, the palm of his left hand became the most interesting thing in the world. “Because… because I’ve been me my whole life, and I’ve had these powers for six months?”

“Mhm…”

“I read books, I build computers… and- and yea, I would love to play football or not get tossed around by the other guys in my school. But I-I couldn’t then, so I shouldn’t now.”

“Sure, ‘cause you’re different.”

“Exactly, but I can’t tell anyone that, so I’m not.”

He sighed, looking all around his room. Anywhere but at Tony. 

“When you can do the things that I can,” Peter whispered, “but you don’t, and _then_ the bad things happen? They happen because of you. And I-I can’t let those things happen. Not-”

He cut himself off, swallowing tightly. _Too much,_ he thought.

You won’t survive.

But Tony nodded, and something in his eyes began to shift. As if he were starting to see Peter more as… a kid. A regular kid who just wants to do right by the world. A kid cursed with great responsibility. A responsibility that should be reserved for people twice his age. He wasn’t just another superhero Tony could recruit for his little problem.

And after all, if Tony was there for the kid’s help, why couldn’t he give some in return?

“So, you wanna lookout for the little guy; you wanna do your part to make the world a better place. All that, right?”

“Yea! Yea, just looking for- for the little guy. That’s- that’s what it is.”

It wasn’t it. Tony could tell, and he made a mental note to ask further one day. He found himself wanting there to actually _be_ another day where he could just sit and talk to the kid. Give him someone to talk to, just to help out. Maybe lookout for this little guy himself.

Peter’s heart began to race as Tony stood from his chair and said, “I’m gonna sit there, so you move the leg.”

And Peter complied. Because what else was he supposed to do? Peter didn’t even notice he was still shifting away from the man after he sat down. But Tony noticed, and he backed up a bit to give the kid space.

Hesitantly, as if afraid he’d break him, Tony laid a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “You got a passport?”

Peter looked at him bewildered, “Wha- no. No, I don’t have a- have a passport-”

“You ever been to Germany?”

“No.”

“Oh, you’ll love it!”

“I can’t go to Germany!”

“Why?”

Peter fumbled, again, “I-I got… homework.”

Tony blinked and rolled his eyes, “Alright, I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that.”

Peter watched as the man (his idol, he reminded himself, and now the only person who knew his secret) stood from the bed and walked towards the door. And sure, he would love to go to Germany and help with whatever Mr. Stark needed but-

“No, I’m serious,” Peter protested. “And-and what about Harley? I can’t just leave him-”

“I’ll talk to your brother and let him know-”

“Wait!” Peter cried, shooting his webs at Tony’s hand, wrapping it around the doorknob. _“Don’t tell Harley.”_

“Alright, Spider-Man,” Tony smiled. And it wasn’t a condescending sneer, either. It was a genuine, maybe even fond smile. A smile Peter hadn’t seen on anyone but Harley in… well, he couldn’t remember how long. “Now get me out of this.”

Peter nodded, rushing to grab a bottle of solvent he’d made, and when he turned around, he spotted the sun peeking out from a field of dispersing grey clouds.

The sky was smiling.


End file.
